Poetry
by shiiki
Summary: Magnus owes Jack a poem. He just needs to find the right god to deliver. [Christmas giftfic for Hello]


**Summary:** Magnus owes Jack a poem. He just needs to find the right god to deliver. For **Hello** , who requested _Magnus looking for Bragi to write an epic poem about Jack, from the Norse series, with Greek-Roman stuff thrown in?_

 **A/N** : Well, I managed it after all! Thank you for giving me the chance to venture into the MCGA series! I don't actually know it so well (Magnus never really got my attention that well—I spent the whole series looking for references to Annabeth, lol) so I hope I managed to get his 'voice' down.

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 **Poetry**

 _A Christmas giftfic for_ _ **Hello**_

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Ordinarily, you'd never catch me dead at a poetry slam. I didn't even know they existed until, like, an hour ago. I mean, people congregating to recite verses … it was like American Idol, except with poetry. What even is that?

But hey, I just saved the world from doomsday in a contest of insults, so who was I to knock the power of words?

Anyway, here I was, lurking in the audience as budding poets threw lines at each other—rhyming couplets, limericks, free verse … It bugs me that I could even name the different types, but that's Jack's fault. He was taking this epic poetry thing way too seriously).

Me, I was just hoping we could find Bragi soon so Jack would stop pointing out words that rhymed with his name. (And _everything_ rhymes with my sword's name. I mean, he'd already asked me to make a mental note of lines like, 'cuts them no slack,' and 'delivers a hell of a smack,' and 'good in the—' … yeah, you get the picture. How many times could _you_ listen to that?)

'I like that guy's poem!' Jack announced. 'Maybe he's Bragi in disguise.'

'It went on for ten minutes,' I said. I didn't even know people could write poetry that lasted that long. Shouldn't there be a rule against it?

Evidently the judges were on my side. The long-winded poet got a low score. Since he stalked offstage without smiting any of the judges, I guessed he wasn't the god we were looking for. Gods tend to be touchy about rejection.

'Well said, my dear fellow.' A pimply teenager clapped me on the shoulder. 'Short and spiffy, that's what we're talking about. Personally, I'm in favour of the haiku. Pithy elegance.'

'I don't know,' Jack mused. 'I think I'm way too amazing to be squeezed into seventeen syllables. Tell him, Magnus.'

'Ah, the noble weapon.' The pimply teen nodded wisely. 'I had a Shakespearean shaft, myself.'

'A Shakespearean—wait, you can hear Jack?' Most mortals never noticed my talking sword. I frowned. I wouldn't have expected a Norse god to take the form of an acne-ridden teenager, but hey, you never know. They can be weird that way. 'Are you Bragi?'

The dude winced. 'I prefer "self-aggrandising". Or maybe "swaggering".'

'No, I mean—' I guess he wasn't the god of poetry after all. Though he had the vocabulary for it. But he clearly knew _something_ about the mythological world. 'Sorry, man, it's just that we're looking for the god of poetry.'

Jack bounced enthusiastically at my side. 'Magnus is going to have him write an epic poem about me!'

'Well, you found him,' said the teen. 'God of poetry at your service.'

My head was starting to spin. 'Are you Bragi or not?'

'I told you, I prefer "swaggering".'

'He's not a god,' Jack said. 'He doesn't have the right aura.'

The imposter god, or whoever he was, winced. 'Fine, maybe I'm not exactly godly _now,_ but I assure you, I _am_ Apollo. There's just been a bit of a—ahem—hitch. With the whole falling to earth thing. Long story.'

'Apollo,' I said. 'Like …' I thought of my cousin Annabeth and her side of the godly family. 'Like the Greek god.'

'That's me.'

'And you're a god of poetry.' An idea was starting to form in my head. Since we weren't having any luck locating Bragi …

Apollo beamed. 'Epic poetry is my specialty! In fact, I feel one coming on already— _Hero's trusty sword; cuts enemies down to size—_ '

'Oh no,' Jack said. 'You'd better not be thinking what I think you are, Magnus. You promised me a Bragi epic. No knock-offs. No haikus. Epic Norse verse only!'

Before I could try and reason with him, the judges called out, 'Number seventy-seven, Lester Papadopoulos!'

'That's me,' Apollo said. 'And I think you may regret turning down my offer once you've heard me recite.'

The best you could have said about Apollo's performance was that it was over really quickly. When he finished, some of the judges looked confused, like, _is that it?_ Or maybe it was relief: _Thank the gods we don't have to suffer through more!_

One of them, this dude with a crazy long beard, got up from judges' table and strolled off like he'd had enough of this shit. I guess I couldn't really blame him, if he'd already sat through seventy-seven slammers—or whatever you call competitors in _Poetry Idol._

'Let's get out of here,' I muttered to Jack. 'Before Apollo comes back.'

I turned to go and found myself facing the long-bearded poetry judge.

'I hear you've been looking for me?'

Jack trembled with excitement—which made a pretty weird visual, considering he's a sword.

'Bragi?' I don't know why it didn't click earlier. Of course the god of poetry would be a judge and not a contestant. Then again, Apollo had been taking part.

Maybe the Greeks just liked getting into contests. My cousin Annabeth is way competitive. I can never even win an argument with her.

'Word is— _ha_ —' Bragi laughed at his own pun, 'you're in the market for a Bragi original.'

'Um, yeah,' I said. 'See, my sword—'

Bragi surveyed Jack with interest. 'Is that Frey's own Sumarbrander?'

I thought Jack might actually have fainted with excitement. Bragi's eyes, brown like his beard, twinkled. 'Ah yes. I could write you some verses. I'll compose it, and you can recite.'

'Me?' My voice came out in a squeak. Not exactly a ringing endorsement of my oratory skills. 'Um, we don't really have to read out the thing. I think Jack would be happy enough if you just wrote it …'

'Nonsense,' Bragi said. 'It's not good poetry unless it's recited. Besides, this competition needs shaking up.'

Jack's blade glowed. He seemed even more pleased than when Annabeth had introduced him to her boyfriend's sword. (Um, his _actual_ sword, Riptide. What did you think I meant?)

'You'd do that for me, Magnus?'

I stifled a groan, wishing I'd just taken Apollo's quick and dirty haiku offer after all. But then, Jack had gotten me out of a lot of tight spots over the past year. I guess I owed him.

'Sure,' I said. 'Bring it on.'

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 **A/N** : Just to be clear, I have nothing against poetry or poetry slams. But Magnus just struck me as a pretty snarky guy. And sorry about the innuendos that managed to creep in there. I think I've been watching too much _Modern Family_ lately.

To Hello-I'm so glad you enjoyed the other giftfic. Your response put a huge smile on my face all morning. I had initially pictured Jules-Albert as mute, but then I reread the line in BoO where Nico describes him, and he calls him a 'rotting corpse with a French accent,' which meant he probably talks, right? Your prompt really made me think of that in-between time because it was the only plausible timing in which Hades could have gifted Nico with Jules-Albert! And like I said, at first I was actually thinking hm, maybe he could send Jules-Albert to drive Nico to Camp Jupiter … but yeah, that didn't work out. Nico was having too much of an angst fest. BUT now that's joined the WIP folder, so who knows. We'll see what I get up to next year. :)

This is the last prompt request, but I still have a few things to round off the year! Next up I have the fic I wrote for this year's PJO Secret Santa, and after that … let's just call it 'author's choice'. ;)


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